Today we wandered through Dutch farm country, along dykes past stinky barns and herds of cows and sheep. There were blue herons everywhere and thousands of song birds sang in the trees and bushes.
Along the way we happened through several small towns. They were old villages with wooden lift bridges and bell towers in all the church steeples and town halls. Some of the bells chimed the hour, while others played songs. They were songs I think, from Dutch history.
In one town, where we stopped on a canal bank for lunch, the swing bridge barricade, which stops cyclists, pedestrians and cars from crossing the bridge while it is in motion, got stuck. It was funny to watch as the locals took matters in their own hands and simply crossed the brugge, barricade or not. At one point a motorcycle policeman came along and was actually helping people squeeze their bicycles and scooters beneath the barricade. Eventually a workman came and got the barricade lifted, and traffic resumed.
In many of the towns it is difficult to distinguish shops from simple row houses, the signs are discreet to the point of being hidden. One lovely little bakery had no sign at all, just cakes and sourdough bread in the windows.
This was my companions, Kees, Marjon, and their year old son, Tomas’ first run of the season, so we weren’t moving fast. It took us about six hours to go 50 K, with breaks. Not bad for a first run of the season, especially with Kees pulling little Tomas in a two wheeled trailer, and both he and Marjon’s bikes fullly loaded.
For me it was a breeze, the pace was light and easy, and all I had to do was follow along. Kees was the navigator, Marjon decided the breaks, and I just pedalled along, sightseeing, making conversation, singing, and slinging the odd fat horker at cars who were moving too fast or disrespected our space on the roads.
Most of the time we were on the canal dykes, or some road where traffic was restricted. The cyclists pretty much have the right of way on most roads, but are forbidden on the highways and main arteries. Sometimes cars come along with drivers who are impatient or just don’t like cyclists. Our closest call came from the driver of a green SUV who decided to pass us when we had oncoming traffic. It was after his indiscretion that we got into slinging horkers at fools. The traditional Dutch response is to give the driver the “A-okay” sign, or thumbs up! It doesn’t work so well, so I figure a good bold second finger or a sloppy horker makes a more pointed statement. Beaned a couple bozos I did, one right in the fool’s window. So yes, I’m becoming a Dutch road warrior.
Anyway, tonight we’re camped in a privately run campground near a ferry dock on the Fek River, which is really an arm of the Rhine River, coming out of Germany. We’re on a two day spin from Kees and Marjon’s home in Utrecht, where I arrived yesterday evening after a lovely 60 K spin up from Zaandam near A’dam, as the locals call Amsterdam.
Utrecht, what I saw of it, was interesting. It was a little more cosmopolitan in some respects, and had less canals. Its about half the size of Amsterdam. The red light district, which we rode through on our way out this morning, is in houseboats along the canal. It actually looks more like a cottage country retreat, or a seniors float house community, but there were the girls, out on the decks of the well-kept and modern boathouses, being cruised by men in shiny black cars.
The city itself seemed to have a lot of history, and some genuine character. Along the canals the roads are elevated, and down below, near water level, there are little terraces. Some are private dwellings, and others little cafe’s and shops. The whole scene is overhung with big willows, and centuries old row housing. I could just see someone like Renoir or Gaugin, and even Van Gogh, sitting atop one of the little foot bridges that transverse the waterway every half-K or so, drawing or painting the scene. Its sort of what I imagined Venice to be.
It only took a half an hour or so to go through Utrecht and out the other side, into the countryside, which really is just a series of villages with little farms in between. Right now the trees are all blossoming, and many flowers are in full bloom. Once in a while an old windmill will appear, in a field, or on the banks of the canal. In some places there are people on horseback, even, at one point, a wedding party with big Clydes pulling wagons and blocking traffic for a few kilometers.
We pulled in here about 5 pm. The name of here I don’t really know, Shotenpuls or something like that. Its an interesting little town. The main street is cut in half by one of the canals, and either side is lined with hundreds of little shops, taverns, and cafes. There were few cars around, but lots of bicycles and walkers. The entire main area is paved by cobble or paving stones, and the buildings look to be at least pre-Victorian, or even earlier. It is very clean, as all the towns and villages are.
Our camp, is right by the Lek, in a reclaimed swamp. Hundreds of canal frieghters, which look like big freighters but have no big main bridge, and ride much lower in the water, have steamed past. Earlier there were a few large sightseeing craft, back from Germany, and some smaller “party” boats, taking people on pleasure cruises up and down. Since the fall of darkness the boat traffic has slowed right down.
Kees and Marjon were quite worn out by the day and have retired to their tent with little Tomas, who seemed to have the most fun of the lot of us today. He just rode along in his little trailer, looking out the window, making happy noises once in a while, and eating like he was doing the cycling at lunch time. Tonight it took hours for his mom and dad to put him to sleep. Hours after his normal bedtime he was wide eyed and looking around like he was in Disneyland!
We had a big bean and vegie dinner, with spinach and cheese and Dutch rye bread. Kees and I cooked it. They were afraid of how much garlic I would put in, and took a helping out for Tomas before letting me add it. He’s never had whole beans and they are just introduing him to things like green onions and other spicy vegies. I felt it necessary to put some garlic in the dinner because both Kees and Marjon have had colds or flus this past winter, and you know babies, they're just little germ incubators!
So, its dark out. There's a moon in a shroud and a cool west wind. Some very large swans are floating out on the river, and the sound of a highway can be heard in the distance. We are the only campers here, the others are all in motorhomes watching TV. They are a good distance away, across a small field and a camproad where no cars are permitted. I’m sleeping tonight in my bivy, first time since I was with Peelee in the south of England. It seems like so long ago.
Late this afternoon some cloud moved in for a bit. The air grew quite humid and I had a sense there would be a power storm. It backed off. The forcast calls for some sort of percipitation tomorrow, when we head another 60 K to what is apparently a “natural campsite”. I will be very interested to find out what that is, apparently it is used most by hikers and cyclists, so it could be fun.
Felt like summer here the past few days, with temperatures reaching the low 20s. I keep forgetting it is only mid May. I’ve had so much fun already and summer is still six weeks off. Everyone here says I’m very lucky about the weather. I think I am too, especailly after the drenching I took last year.
Anyway, its about 11:30 at night. My cyclemates are sound asleep and I should be too. Wish I could send this to you this moment, but there’s no connection here. Just thought you might all like a little snipet of the adventure.
Have fun, and by the way, I was only kidding about sending money, I’m okay for a while yet. I was just a little lonely and wanted some company. Its nice to hear that some of you are enjoying the ride.
Next Day
Its 9:30 in the evening and the sun has just set in a flurry of pinks and purples. There are dark grey clouds on the western and southern horizons, but they aren’t visible beyond the row of high shrubs that mark the edge of the campground.
We’ve had a long day, but a pleasant one. Our ride today took us 55K, from Schoonhoven to another town whose name I can’t recall. The campground is what Hollanders call a “natural” campground, but I can’t really tell the difference. Water comes murky from a tap, there are RVs across a field, the trees are all in rows. Apparently the showers are not as hot or high pressured, and there are no ships passing in the night. Don’t know if it is cheaper than last night, where we paid $12 euro, or not, but otherwise things seem pretty much the same.
The tough part of our day came early. Kees set a fast pace, and I forgot to eat my bee pollen, so for the first couple hours I struggled to keep up. A big apple, an orange juice, and a tab of bee pollen got me going finally.
That was while we waited for a little walk on ferry, and I do mean little. If I’d brought my BoB, I would have had to take a separate ride. There was just enough room on the boat, an electric driven cable boat that spanned a channel no more than 30 meters across, for Kees, Marjon, Tomas and I, and our bikes, as well as the tiny ancient one armed lady who operated the thing, and collect our one euro per person fare. The little thing bobbed and wobbled its way across the canal in about two minutes, leaving us on one of the nicest stretches of our day, along a dyke that protected several farms, which were located deep in the manmade valley on its other side.
We kept up our torrid pace from there, covering over 20 k in less than an hour, until we reached yet another walk on ferry, this one located near a tiny village. It featured a motorized boat that actually could carry us and three other cyclists comfortably. There was a little bell to ring to draw the ferry man’s attention, although one could have easily spoken loudly and got his attention across the canal, again less than 30 meters wide. We didn’t bother ringing the bell, and had a long leisurely lunch instead, during which time I managed to catch a cat nap and even play with little Tomas for a while.
He sure is a happy little cherub. All day long he either slept or looked out his little windows at the road, the sheep, goats, cows, hikers and myriads of other cyclists out on the dykes and winding farm roads.
It was supposed to rain today, according to the forcast, but it never did, at least not anywhere near where we were. There were a couple times when the wind came up, or the temperatures cooled, and the sun remained locked in a haze, but it was generally another nice day.
After lunch we crossed the ferry, which cost us 80 euro-cents each, then cut through a thick forest on an up and down path, until we crossed a large modern metal bridge into the town near where we’re camped. It was here that Kees and I made a foray into a local grocery store to shop for dinner, which we’d earlier decided would be pasta.
Here, vegetables come individually wrapped, or in bags. Loose fruit and veggies, which are rare, must be weighed in the produce section, where a little computer figures out the price and prints a bar coded sticky paper the shopper places on the bag. The layout of these stores is similar but oddly different than those at home. Cheese is a main staple here, we’re not too far from the town of Gouda, and is the cheapest form of protein available. Soy milk is also quite inexpensive, and so are dried fruits and nuts. Its actually quite amazing what one can buy for 10 euros, much more than you’d get in Canada.
Another staple food here in Holland is chocolate. There’s a lot of it around and its cheap too, and good. You pay half the price for a 100 gram bar as you’d pay in Canada, and its actually good stuff. If I thought I could live on cheese and chocolate I’d be able to stay here for months. But alas, I need my vegies, fruits and pastas.
Our plan tomorrow is to head back to Kees and Marjon’s in Utrecht. The next night I’ll likely be staying at a local hostel, apparently in an old castle, because Kees and Marjon have family coming over for some sort of personal thing. They’ve invited me to come back on Tuesday or Wednesday but I’m not sure what I’ll be doing. At some point I’m going to have to break the Dutch embilical chords provided by, first Arno and Gerda, then Kees and Marjon, and strike out alone. I had a bit of a freak out today when it hit home that I would soon be all alone in a foreign country where I do not understand the language or many of the customs, with maps I can’t read, and signs that don’t always make sense. I will make sure to learn at least a few phrases, and how to count to ten in Dutch over the next few days. Once I get those things down I’m just going to have a go at it and see how I do.
We had a nice big pasta dinner then sat around either talking or playing with Tomas, who remains so excited by all the new sights and adventures that he doesn’t want to sleep or miss anything. At one point today the little guy was crawling around on my belly, sticking his fingers in my mouth, nose, ears, eyes and generally treating me the way I treat new landscapes. It was fun for both of us, and I realized it has been many many years since I was in the company of such a young person. Its amazing to see the excitement in his little blue eyes, to hear the wonder in his squeaky voice, and to sense what a happy wandering little spirit he is. His company has been the hilight of the trip so far.
Anyway, its dark now. The night air is cool, almost cold. I’ve set up some extra weather protection, covering the bike and biouvaccing next to it in case it rains. We have some other cyclers next to us tonight, but they’re young, have all the expensive high tech gear, and don’t seem all that friendly. We’ve waved at them, but when Marjon tried to visit she got a cold shoulder. They look like long distance riders, but I think it may be more fashion than furor.
I’m tired. Didn’t sleep so long last night, and had to really steam to keep up this morning. Sometimes it takes me a while to understand I’m riding with people 20 years my junior. Still, I did keep up, and by the end of the day had more energy than they did, so I guess I’m doing okay.
Got a feeling the real adventure is yet to begin. Tomorrow Utrecht, then we’ll see.
May 15 Esto, Holland
I’m a lucky guy. Its been two days since I wrote in this journal, my electronic one. A lot has transpired.
It's raining out now. I’m hunkered down in the backyard of some complete strangers, Anja and Herman, who rescued me from the road.
Once again, its how I came to be rescued that is the real story.
Kees, Marjon, Tomas and I completed our little weekend adventure with a lovely ride through thick forest to the village of Bunnick, near Utrecht, where we stopped for a long lunch before finishing up in Utrecht.
Bunnick is the site of an old estate and mansion, which has been transformed into a hostel, but an expensive one. The cheapest bed is 20 euros, 30 CDN! We stopped there after a heavy ride in wind on a beautiful sunny but chilly afternoon. I’d picked up a bit of a cold or flu and was having a difficult time. The symptoms included a horrible sinus headache that rousted the bear in me. I was foul, and rode off in a huff from our campsite, such a huff in fact, that when I failed to make a turn I just kept on going, until I heard Marjon screaming at me from half a mile away. I knew in my gut I was going the wrong way, and because of my condition, had half a mind to just keep on going and see where I wound up. My companions had been so good to me I didn’t want them to see me in such a dreadful state. But when Marjon nearly made me jump out of my seat from half a mile away I knew I had to be civilized and turn back to join them.
We put on some serious kilometers before I asked for a break, which they politely aquiesced to. While stopped I shocked the hell out of them by pulling out a bulb or garlic, peeling off a clove, and eating it raw. They were less shocked and more amazed a few hours later when the garlic did its thing, cleared my sinuses and relieved my headache, returnning me to my good natured self (ha ha)!
Kees would later tell me he’d remember that trick. Garlic, nature’s antibiotic, will kill a throat infection in minutes, you just have to have the guts to chow down on the stuff raw! And be willing to take the shunning that comes with garlic breathe.
By time we reached the hostel at Bunnick I was feeling much better, and when I found out how much the place cost for a bed, I decided I’d take Kees and Marjon up on the offer to stay a night at their place. It was a good idea in some ways. I didn’t manage to get the sleep I wanted, but I did sit down with them and learn a few phrases, like: Spretch ou Angles? Do you speak English? I also learned some numbers and with Kees assistance, worked out a route into Germany that will help me avoid the heavy industrial areas of Dusseldorf and Coln. I also managed to figure out some numbers and my hosts gave me lots of tips on what to look out for. While all this was going on they also fed me a big pasta dinner.
I went to sleep that night, last night, with every intention of getting a good nights rest. I did not want to let the cold or whatever it was come back, and I wanted to make a place called Ede, a good 60 K run the next day. It was not to be.
In the night the telephone went off. I was sleeping in Kees and Marjon’s study, where all their computers and mobile phones are located. The phone rang over and over, until Marjon suddenly appeared in the room, to rescue it. Turned out there was no one on the line, but it sufficiently broke up my sleep.
Come this morning I wanted desperately to sleep in, but the room was full of light, the traffic outside was squealing, and I could hear Marjon and Tomas playing downstairs. I got up to regret that I hadn’t repeated my garlic trick before going to bed. My head hurt and my nose was plugged. Yuk!
Pulling on my clothes, I swept my stuff, including my computer, up and hauled it all downstairs, where I promptly turned on the kettle, made coffee, poured a few handfuls of museli in a bowl, addded some hot water, then went outside to have a sip. Then, still half asleep, I packed up my bike.
Once that was done I got directions to the local mall, a couple blocks away, and wandered over there to photocopy some maps Kees loaned me, buy some supplies, like razors, shampoo, tobacco and some food. Then I went back to Kees and Marjons, made another coffee, wrote in my other journal, ate the museli, then pulled out, with Marjon and little Tomas giving me hugs on my way out the driveway.
I’d planned the night before to head for Ede, then Arnhem, then Nijumegen, then Mastricht. When I left the house I told Marjon I would probably just go to the hostel in Bunnick, have a very short day, a hot shower and hopefully do some internet mailing.
I dragged my buns across the Wilhelm Keizer brugge, along the canal, past the red light district, which was very busy at noon, through the center of Utrecht, and out the south east side to Bunnick, where I stopped into the hostel, bought a phone card, confirmed their exhorberant prices, got a wiff of the bartender’s bad manners, found out their internet wasn’t working, told the hostel clerk, who was being mistreated by the bartender, that I might be back, then rode out with no intention of going back. That's when I decided to make the run to Ede, where I knew there were some campsites.
It was a lovely ride, along quiet country roads, past several castles, through some woods, along a canal or two, and into the quaint and surprisingly lovely town of Amergon, where I discovered I was nearly 10 K off my intended route and, once again, totally lost.
At that point I noticed the marking for a hostel on the map Kees gave me to photocopy. It was between the town of Elst and a place called Prattenburge. I followed one of the cycle lane markers that had both names on it deep into a very lovely forest, where I came to my first Dutch hill! So there I was, riding a hill through a forest feeling like I was almost back in BC when I realized I must have missed the turn off for the hostel and doubled back to find it.
With the help of a nice young couple who were out walking their toddlers, I found my way to Elst and the hostel, where I rang the reception bell and was greeted by a rather gruff bullcook who informed me the hostel was only for groups. It was empty but for a smalll group on teenagers on a class outing. I’d seen several vacant dorms on my way around it, but still, as is the case over here, rules are rules and there was no way the guy would take my 20 euros and let me stay. He told me about a cheap motel about 5 K away and I headed off in that direction.
As I was leaving some pal of the bullcooks came out and said something to the bullcook. They were standing there shaking their heads and laughing.
“You should read the brochure,” said the bullcook, pn there it says we are only for groups.”
Then his pal said something that sounded vaguely like, “Stupid English Speaking American!” then they both started lauging. I apologized for not being able to read the Dutch brochure, then suggested that someday they might find themselves lost too, if they ever decided to step out of their own little mud holes.
I rode away, following the bullcook’s directions to the end of the road, where I spotted a highway camping sign in the opposite direction to where the bullcook had told me I’d find a cheap hotel. I followed it, double checked at an information kiosk where it was located, and then promptly got lost again trying to find it.
As I rode around in circles I came across a woman on a bicycle towing a little dog. I smiled at her and she gave me back an odd look I didn’t really get. When she was past me I wondered out loud if it would be so difficult for people to return smiles I sent their way, then I rode up another road looking for the campground, which I could not find. This road ended back where I’d started so I rode around again, coming once more across the woman with the small dog. She said something in Dutch, to which I responded, “Sprecht ou Angles.”
“English, oh yes, I can function in it,” she responded, to my relief.
I asked here where the campground was, and she offered to show me, but told me straight up it wasn’t an overnight campground, but one where people went to stay for extended periods. Then she half invited me to come to her place and camp in her garden.
First she helped me check the campground, but when the guy offered me a space in the middle of the place, next to a restaurant, completely exposed, and with no exact fee attached, she could tell I wasn’t thrilled. She then reiterated her offer to let me camp in her garden. I accepted, and followed her back the direction we’d come, to her house, a lovely modern place on a rather rural suburban sidestreet.
Once we got to the place, she made me wait while she fetched her husband, Herman. Once he gave the okay, I set up on a picnic table in their backyard, made tea and cooked a pasta dinner.
When I was almost done dinner, Herman, Anja, and their 14 year old son Yuri came out to visit with me, just in time to pull the rain from the sky. They seemed concerned that I might get wet camping in the yard in the rain but I assured them I’d be fine and told them several stories about sleeping in snow banks, tornadoes, and monsoons and not getting wet. This seemed to allay their concerns, and stopped them from offering me a place indoors.
We talked for a while, as I finished dinner, then they went back inside to escape the weather while I set up my lean to, rolled out my bed, cleaned up my dinner mess, then crawled in under the tarp, where I am now, writing to you all.
Because I’m miles from Ede, I will not go there, nor to Arnhem, but will go south east directly to the Rhine, then onto Nijumegen, and the Maas River. It will save me half a day riding, and put me on the cycle route I need to be on to reach Masstritch, which is in the south Holland, what the locals refer to ast “Holland’s Penis”, a stretch of land
that reaches south into a wedge between Germany and Belgium.
Well, that’s the plan, if I don’t get lost!
May 16
One thing I didn't mention about yesterday was the constant agravating noise coming from my rear wheel. I thought perhaps it was simply out of true, so this morning I tipped old Wheels upside down to have a look.
Two spokes were broken, and the sound I'd heard all day was likely them clanking against my frame.
With Anja's help, and driving skill, and overall kindness, I found a bike shop and had it fixed. Fifteen Euros later all is well.
Before I left this morning Anja and Herman's son, Coen, came out to wish me a good trip and asked if I would be his pen pal. He said it would help his English. I agreed but warned him, I don't speak English, I speak Canadian.
He laughed, then told me when he first saw me he was a bit wary, but after talking to me, he decided I was a nice man. At least someone thinks so.
Anyway, down the road I go.
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